I can�t think
of anyone or anything
you remind me of
except some
defrocked angel,
struggling for a
second chance.

You dress so handsomely
to try and cover up
the ugliness that
wrenches your stomach
when you try to sleep
and compels you to
drink
every time you
sit down in my car.

And you smile so
numbly
when you describe
the day your father
threw rocks
and told you never
to come back
you Goddamned Catholic,
and your mother,
of whom my mother reminds you,
cried.

You told me
your mother was
so beautiful and simple
like a pearl
without elegance
and I never met her
but I can see her
in your eyes.

You kiss
with your mouth closed
as if she�s always there,
and you�re trying
to atone
for sins only your father
says you committed. -B, 11/18